


Queen of Spades

by Sacramental_Wine



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, One Shot, Pretty shameless actually, Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sacramental_Wine/pseuds/Sacramental_Wine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Axalon can be boring in between battles so Rattrap found himself a new hobby. Hey all that surveillance equipment has to come in handy somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen of Spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekumquat/gifts).



> I should be working on Burnt. I really should be, however, this was brought on by the challenge of making something with a happy ending for these two. Please enjoy the fruit of my suffering. Also, can you name the sonnets?

There wasn’t much entertainment to be had on _The Axalon_. The times between Predacon attacks were quiet and had, over the weeks, become unfathomably boring to Rattrap. So he needed a hobby. The best hobby for him, however, happened to be patching into his crew mate’s private quarters to watch the goings on and snicker to himself over the mutual boredom that seemed to have befallen them all. Every time he had surveillance duty he kept one screen cycling between Optimus, Rhinox, and Cheetor’s rooms just to give himself variety.

This particular day found him without his usual entertainment of Spots running in circles or Rhinox singing old Cybertronian love songs off key or Optimus Primal’s unfortunate habit of practicing his one-liners. No they were all doing other things apparently and that left Rattrap in the lurch. Well not exactly. There was one room he had avoided looking into. _That slagging saurian probably wouldn’t be very fun to watch anyway_. He thought. _On the other hand I bet he could be doing something really embarrassing and I’d have something to hang over his head_. His vindictive nature and innate desire for something to do won out over his normally insistent self preservation instinct that was loudly trying to remind him what the raptor would do to him if he ever found out and so he adjusted the frequency and got ready for a show. _Hopefully something juicy!_

The picture came in clear and he found himself slightly disappointed to see Dinobot stretched across his berth with a data pad in his claws. Well that was a bust but wait, Dinobot was talking. Talking to someone maybe? A secret link! _That dirty traitor!_ Rattrap activated the microphones and his audials were filled with Dinobot’s growling voice shaping around unfamiliar words that couldn’t have been any real type of communication. “Let me not the marriage of true minds admit impediments,” the saurian growled soft and low, barely detectable to the microphones. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove.” It was some kind of poem all carefully measured and balanced with each word but all that pretty parlance got warped in the snarls natural to Dinobot’s voice but was no less hypnotic in meter and rhythm.

“Oh no!” Rattrap jumped as Dinobot suddenly stood his voice thick with the poem and its words rolling across that strange glossa of his. “It is an ever-fixed mark. That looks on tempests and it never shaken; it is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken,” there was a sudden snarl and the saurian walked the room, looking away from the data pad and those _words_ kept slipping from between his needle thin teeth to land in Rattrap’s audials and make his spark spin faster and faster in its cage. “Love’s not time’s fool, through rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.”

There was a pause, the data pad being ignored still clutched in Dinobot’s claw and Rattrap found himself leaning forward, anticipation running rampant across his circuits. That couldn’t be the end right? Dinobot seemed to be holding his ventilations. He tossing the pad to his berth and pressing his servos to the place above his spark chamber and tilting his head up with his optics half closed and a small smile graced his features. _Primus he’s good lookin’ when he decides to smile…what?_ Rattrap had been holding his ventilations as well until that voice, _that voice sending chills up his back strut not unlike a caress of claws_ , said with a strange soft finality, “If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.” Satisfaction overtook Dinobot’s faceplates and he returned to his berth, unknowing of the slightly trembling Rattrap he had inadvertently left in his wake.

The rat stared at the screen and came to the conclusion he would be watching Dinobot more. And watch he did, every chance that came he watched and new poetry slipped into his very being and captured part of his spark with a growling voice. It got harder to pick fights with the saurian because he’d imagine that voice growling out line lines of meter and rhyme that never failed to make Rattrap wish he could watch closer and to really hear the vibrato carried in that voice when he would reach the crescendo of the passions contained in the words. He found himself pretending the words were just for him and him alone. Hey, a rat could dream!

It never occurred to Rattrap that it was always a love sonnet and that Dinobot always seemed to sit down right after to jot something down just as he finished, the trance seemingly broken and pushed aside.

So, a few weeks later, when Rattrap was on surveillance duty he was disappointed to see that Dinobot was not in his quarters proclaiming love to someone invisible just for Rattrap to hear. He didn’t notice someone entering the surveillance hub until a large chest was pressed against his back and a chin rested on his shoulder. “Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all; what hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call,” Dinobot growled softly into his audial before he could even squeak. Rattrap stood frozen as the saurian’s claws gently drew down his arm to cup his hand.

“All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest; but yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest.” Rattrap’s processor began to swim. Each syllable was precise, clipped, and just as impassioned as ever. Dinobot’s free arm drew about his waist to hold them closer so they could share heat and the subtle thrum of their sparkbeats as he spoke. “By willful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, although thou steal thee all my poverty,” Dinobot said. He gently touched the tips of his claws to the ends of Rattrap’s servos and aligned them as best he could. The vermin was trembling in his grip and he turned the rat around to lock optics. “And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief to bare love's wrong than hate's known injury.”

And then came the pause. That pit spawned pause that the saurian would put just before the last too lines. The last two lines that would let Rattrap slagging breathe again. Dinobot held Rattrap closer, pressing their foreheads together just so that as he spoke those final lines their lip-plates would brush. “Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes,” he breathed out against Rattrap’s face and began to pull away. The string of tension that had wound its way around Rattrap’s processor broke and he surged forward to catch that cheater in a kiss.

Now kisses are not like poetry, no matter what anyone says, but gracelessness is not a problem in the face of emotional desperation. Rattrap was more than content to throw his arms around Dinobot’s neck to keep them at eye level while his glossa tried to pry the words that the saurian had been teasing him with for weeks from his mouth. He wanted to know if they actually **were** all for him as he had imagined they were before and he wanted to taste each syllable and elongated growl for himself. Dinobot finally pulled back to look him in the optics and Rattrap grinned.

“Ya know if ya wanted to go steady ya coulda just asked ya slaggin’ saurian.”

“Yes but where would the fun be in that vermin?”


End file.
